WISHING YOU WERE SOMEHOW HERE AGAIN
by Hidden Gems
Summary: The tribute to Sirius I wrote shortly after finishing OotP. Lyrics from the musical "The Phantom of the Opera".


**WISHING YOU WERE SOMEHOW HERE AGAIN**

Harry Potter had asked special permission to Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to leave the castle one evening. It had been a month since the school year had started, and Dumbledore had not been very surprised by his request. He had actually thought that Harry would come to him sooner. He had 'watched' over him all summer, sending different members of the Order to visit him every other day, which, of course, had nearly driven the Dursleys mad, but Dumbledore did not care. They did not understand how important Harry was to the wizarding world. He had tried to explain more than once, but as far as Vernon Dursley was concerned, there was no hope since the man was in constant denial about the mere existence of their world. Petunia – who, after all, had lived with her witch-sister for quite a few years – had finally seemed to come round the idea during the previous year. Yet, Harry had spent what had probably been the worst summer of his life. It did not matter anymore, though, because he was back under Dumbledore's protection.

Tonight, he stood outside the village of Hogsmeade, at the entrance of a small cave situated on the foot of the rocky mountain, overlooking the landscape. He could see the train station, the Three Broomsticks and all the shops where he had gone so many times with his friends. And away from the village, stood the Shrieking Shack. His eyes lingered on the old abandoned building for a few minutes, until the feeling of tightness in his throat made it difficult to breathe. He looked away, his eyes filled with tears. Harry Potter did not cry in front of anyone – even if there was no one with him right now…

_You were once my one companion  
You were all that mattered  
You were once a friend and father  
Then my world was shattered_

It was in this house that he had come face to face with Sirius for the first time. In this house that he had nearly killed him, before being interrupted by Remus Lupin. In this house that he had learned the truth about his parents' death. In this house that he had learned that Sirius – who incidentally happened to be his godfather – had been innocent all along. In this house that he had had the hope, for about half an hour, that he would soon be able to leave the Dursleys and live with Sirius.

But it would never happen now…

Because Sirius was dead. He had been dead for more than three months already, and yet, every time Harry dared to say it aloud, it was like witnessing it all over again. Every time he shut his eyes, he could see his godfather battling with Bellatrix Lestrange, not taking it seriously, and finally being fatally jinxed right in the chest, disappearing behind the veil…

The veil… After dreaming about the graveyard and then the endless doors in the Ministry of Magic for months during the previous year, now he saw the Death Room every night. And voices; he could hear voices. He could hear them talking, moaning, screaming, but they did not make any sense. And as hard as he tried, he could not make Sirius' out of them.

_Wishing you were somehow here again  
Wishing you were somehow near  
Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed  
Somehow you would be here_

Harry turned around and looked at the cave. Sirius had lived there too for a while, with Buckbeak, during Harry's fourth year at school. It had been insane for him to come back so close when only five people in the wizarding world – including Sirius himself – knew that he was not a murderer.

As insane as going to the Ministry of Magic that night… Sirius should have stayed at home at Grimmauld Place, he should not have followed Lupin into rescuing Harry and his friends. Harry still wished he could crush Kreacher's neck with his own hands. It was that miserable creature's fault; he had lied and Harry had taken his vision about Sirius being tortured by Voldemort even more seriously than before. Even then, Harry should not have rushed into the Ministry in the first place. He should have figured out – like Hermione had – that it was a trick from the Dark Lord to lure him there. He should have taken Snape's Occlumency lessons more seriously. But no, he had thought himself stronger than he really was. And now, Sirius was dead, and it was all his fault… No matter what people could say, deep down he knew it was _his_ fault.

_Wishing I could hear your voice again  
Knowing that I never would  
Dreaming of you won't help me to do  
All that you dreamed I could_

What would he not give to have Sirius back? He thought about the pile of gold in his vault at Gringott's. What a load of crap! What good was it to be rich when it could not bring you what you most wanted? Why could people like Lucius Malfoy work their ways into everything, thanks to a bag full of gold given to corrupt politicians, when he, Harry, could not use it to bring back the person he most wanted?

His fists clenched, causing his knuckles to turn white, but then a smile appeared on his face. Lucius would not go anywhere now. Harry did not know for how long the Death Eater would be trapped in Azkaban, but as long as possible was fine by Harry.

Bellatrix Lestrange, on the other hand, was a completely different matter. Harry remembered what he had felt back at the Ministry, when he had tried to curse her with one of the Unforgivable Curses. He could still hear her laughing.

"_Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy? You need to _mean_ them, Potter. You need to really want to cause pain – to enjoy it – righteous anger won't hurt me for long – I'll show you how it's done, shall I?_"

Well maybe she would say something different now. He had spent three months keeping all his anger inside, letting it grow steadily, until he had started to notice a change. After the initial frustration filling his whole body and mind, he had started growing calm again. It had been very strange to feel so calm, but deep down he knew that it was just like the lull before the storm; the more it lasts, the more terrible it is. More than once, he had suddenly felt the urge to run away from Privet Drive, go after her, wherever she was now hiding, and kill her straight away. And he knew without any doubt that this time he would be able to do it. All the anger he had kept and channelled inside would surely be enough for Avada Kedavra…

_Passing bells and sculpted angels  
Cold and monumental  
Seem for you the wrong companions  
You were warm and gentle_

But tonight the calmness had abandoned him again. He had felt restless all day and he knew that, even thought they had not said a word about it, his friends had been worried. And it was not only Ron and Hermione anymore. Ginny, Neville and Luna had become much closer friends. No one outside that group could really understand what had happened during that night. No one really tried actually… Harry was regarded even more like a monster. First-years yelled and jumped out of his way during the first week. People were afraid of him…

What probably hurt him more than anything else was the fact that he had not had a dead body to mourn upon. Maybe it would have been easier to deal with it if he had had the tangible proof that Sirius was indeed dead. But as it was, for all he knew, Sirius might still be alive… _You know this is not possible. He would have come out by now; told everyone who witnessed the scene back in that room that he had not been killed, just injured, which explained why he had not managed to come back immediately_.

No, Sirius was dead and Harry had to come to term with it.

_Too many years fighting back tears  
Why can't the past just die?_

It had not only been Sirius, though… The Prophecy had been his parents' death omen. So, if he thought about it carefully, even for _their_ death he was the one who was responsible. _I know I was only a baby, but still. If I had not existed, even with the Prophecy, they'd still be alive. And Sirius would still be alive as well. _Yes, it was his fault; nothing and no one would ever make him think it was not.

"The Boy Who Lived," he snorted aloud. "And I was a hero…"

But what had he really done? He had been marked as an equal by the darkest wizard that had ever lived, and caused the deaths of the people he loved most.

"What kind of hero is that?"

He found himself wishing for a moment that Voldemort had not marked him, but Neville Longbottom instead. He would have grown up like any normal child, not as 'The Boy Who Lived'; Neville would have had to deal with that! But then, it meant that he probably wished Neville's parents had been killed while trying to defend their baby, instead of his own.

"At least _my_ parents would still be here!" he said, clenching his fists so tight that his knuckles turned white.

No, he did not mean that. He could not mean somebody else's death. But wouldn't it better for them, instead of having been driven mad by torture and not even able to recognise their own son…?

He turned his face towards the sky again. Looking inside the cave was too painful. He could still remember Buckbeak lying down in one of the corners, and Sirius devouring the food that they had brought him that day when they had seen him again for the first time after his escape.

_Wishing you were somehow here again  
Knowing we must say goodbye  
Try to forgive, teach me to live  
Give me the strength to try_

He had to leave the past behind. He knew he would probably never be able to lead a normal life, but if he wanted to try, he had to try to forget somehow. Not _really_ forget them all, but stop thinking about them all the time; about Sirius all the time. What good was it to live in the past? He had lots to think about; lots to come to term with. When would Voldemort try to get him again? He was not even safe here, on his own, standing in front of that cave in Hogsmeade. What guarantied him that Voldemort did not have a Death Eater lurking around Hogwarts at all times, waiting for an opportunity like this to strike? If Dumbledore's powers protected him inside Hogwarts, surely they did not go as far as Hogsmeade.

He looked at the landscape around him for a brief moment, and then looked up at the stars. Was it true what Muggles thought about Heaven and Hell? If so, was Sirius looking at him from where he was? Were his parents with him too?

"I've got to let you go, Sirius," he said sadly as he stared into the emptiness of the autumn sky.

He knew that, as much as it might hurt then, he had to set Sirius' soul free again. Trying to retain it in this world was no good, now he had understood.

"You have to leave this place for good… I thought that maybe, if I wished for it enough, you'd come back as a ghost or something, but this is not working. I cannot go on; I'm going to go mad…"

_No more memories, no more silent tears  
No more gazing across the wasted years  
Help me say goodbye_

He turned around and glanced inside of the cave once more; one last time. He had come here tonight because this was the only place that he could relate to Sirius. The Shrieking Shack reminded him of an agonising Ron with a broken leg, and Wormtail as well. Grimmauld Place was too far, and anyway, Sirius had never belonged there. But he had promised himself that he would never come back to the cave. This was the first day of the rest of his life.

He sighed, quickly the tears that had started rolling down his cheeks wiped with his sleeve, and turned his eyes towards the stars one more time.

"Look after Mum and Dad for me, Sirius…" he said before climbing down the rocks and slowly making his way back to the Three Broomsticks, where Hagrid, his escort for the night, was patiently waiting for him.

FINITE INCANTATUM


End file.
